


you'll get over it (i know)

by fruitwhirl



Series: now, here's a story i heard [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, annabeth is totally a criminal and amy's frustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitwhirl/pseuds/fruitwhirl
Summary: Amy's arguably one of the best detectives in her precinct, but she and the rest of her squad have their hands full with a certain Annabeth Chase.





	you'll get over it (i know)

**Author's Note:**

> basically i was rewatching b99 for the millionth time and realized how similar jake and percy were, and how much fun it'd be to mash the two worlds together. you don't need to have read pjo for this to make sense, all you gotta know is annabeth has an invisibility yankees hat that she can't carry around brooklyn for Reasons.
> 
> title from oh wonder's "landslide" because i don't know how to make a title without it being song lyrics.

As with all interesting cases, it starts with blue cake.

Well, technically, this one is kicked off by the seasoned detective, Rosa Diaz, responding to a routine breaking and entering at an apartment a few blocks away from the precinct, on Lincoln St. Okay, maybe not routine for the victim—an older woman who says she’s a school teacher—but Rosa thinks that in some part, it’s the tenant’s fault for not being more deliberate about how they choose to protect their homes as well as conceal its location.

That being said, she’s intent on making the people of this city (or at least those who deserve it) feel safer, especially with instances like this that are totally preventable. So, she’s taking a statement from the lady who’s claiming that _no, nothing was actually stolen but my beloved Tommy is missing._ When Rosa asks who Tommy is (perhaps her child?), the woman scoffs that it’s her five year old exotic shorthair and that no one appreciates felines.

Just as the woman is showing her pictures of the admittedly ugly ass cat, and Rosa’s considering telling her so, a heavy thud resounds from the apartment over, as well as a sharp shout.

Rosa quirks an eyebrow, and the woman rushes to complain about her neighbors: a girl and a boy, whom she can faintly hear speaking to each other through the thin walls. “Those two college kids—living together in _sin_ —and I swear they just hate Tommy. They probably stole him.” She gasps dramatically. “They could be _torturing_ him!”

“It’ll be fine, ma’am.”

“No, Detective Diaz, you _have_ to question them! Now!”

In truth, she was planning on checking out the neighbors after she finished talking with the victim, but she decides to humor her and nods gruffly, as she does with everyone. So she tells the woman she’ll visit the young adults, and then come back after. This causes her to relent, though not before desperately begging her to find her _dearest Tommy._

Her neighbors, it turns out, reside in apartment 309, and before she knocks on the lightly browned wood, she notes the bright blue smiley-face sticker that’s plastered near the upper right corner of the door. Faintly, she hears muffled conversation on the other side, but when it’s opened, it’s only a young woman with tanned skin and a tangled mop of golden blonde curls. She’s got a small cut on her cheek that doesn’t necessarily look fresh, but like it’s had some time to heal, and to be perfectly honest, if Rosa was a few years younger, she’d totally tap that.

“Can I help you?”

While the glare she levels at her would make even the most experienced cop nervous, but Rosa decides instead to match the glower and scowl in return. Rosa introduces herself, explains that the elderly woman next door had a break-in that morning, asks her for her name (“Hayley Adams,” accompanied with a grimace), and if she could let her in the apartment (which she does begrudgingly).

It’s a small flat, with one apparent bedroom off the living room (largely unfurnished aside from a raggedy couch and a worn armchair and a bookshelf tiered with different works), a tidy kitchen and perhaps a bathroom. The one thing that Rosa does take note of, though, is—“Does anyone else live in the apartment with you?”

Hayley doesn’t visibly react to the prodding question. “My boyfriend, but he left for class a few minutes ago.”

“Can I get a name?”                       

“Jarett Burns,” she answers smoothly.

Rosa doesn’t press it, but she distinctly remembers two voices arguing in hushed (though still audible) tones. Instead, she moves on to the reason she came. “Mrs. Winkle says her cat was the only thing missing from the break-in. Have you seen it?"

Hayley’s jaw tightens slightly, curses under her breath about _that damn cat,_ then shakes her head, saying that she and Jarett were having breakfast with his parents during the time of the break-in, and that she had no information to help with the case.

“Do you mind if I just take a quick look around?” Rosa considers leaving it at that, but at the defiant look in the younger woman’s eyes, she recalculates. “That old bat won’t get off my back until I search every possible avenue.”

With a groan, Hayley seems to agree, because she assents, leading Rosa throughout the tiny apartment, even going so far as to open closets and pantries, as if to prove her innocence. Rosa has to admit that she didn’t see any space for a grown man to be hiding without being found on her rather short tour.

“Did you get everything you needed, Detective?” Her tone is scathing, but Rosa doesn’t blame her. She’d be pissed too if she was getting razzed because of a lost cat.

However, a glint of something catches her eye, on the top shelf of the bookcase. “Why do you have a dagger?”

For just a moment, Hayley looks surprised, but it’s gone before Rosa can really register it. “It was a gift from an old friend, it doesn’t leave the apartment.”

She can’t precisely remember the possession laws when it comes to dirk, stilettos and daggers found in homes, but she supposes that she has plenty of unlawful weapons on her person and even at her desk back at the precinct, so she decides to not press it. Plus, she digs this girl’s vibe, or at least as much as she can dig _anyone’s_ vibe.

So Rosa gruffly thanks her for her time, and Hayley just shrugs as she goes to open the front door. “It’s fine, Detective Diaz. Half the time, Winkle doesn’t close the door all the way and the cat’ll just sneak out and someone ends up finding it in the stairwell.”

And maybe Rosa cracks a smile at that.

Rosa’s in the hallway and is just about to check out the others on the floor, just to see if anyone saw anything, when she decides to wait around for a bit. And sure enough, a few minutes later and a muffled, but distinctly male voice can be heard through the door.

“I can’t believe you just leave your dagger lying around,” the man admonishes, but his tone is light and teasing.

Rosa can practically hear the eye roll. “I’m sorry mine doesn’t magically appear in my pocket every time I leave it on the table, _Jackson_.”

“I accept your apology.”

Now, she’s considering kicking the door in, because she’s a little pissed: either the girl lied to her about her boyfriend’s name and she was somehow hiding him the entire time, or, the more likely answer, she’s cheating on her boyfriend with some random guy who came in through the fire escape, which is honestly plausible. Rosa does not like liars, or infidelity. She’s also irritated by the fact that their banter reminds her of Peralta and Santiago, and she already gets enough of _those two_ at the precinct.

She decides against exposing the girl, instead carrying on with the rest of door duty, wanting to get all this over with and find this stupid lady’s cat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If Jake wasn’t so incredibly terrified of like, _feelings_ , he’d probably marry Amy Santiago at this very moment. And it’s totally not at all related to the fact that when he mentioned feeling down over the past few days due to a father who shall not be named, she smiled gently, and _now,_ she just plops a rather small cake with light blue frosting and sprinkles and he thinks that it’s even vanilla mixed with blue food dye on his desk.

It’s just so _Amy,_ she even gave him actual silverware and a nice black cloth napkin that won’t show stains that he thought you could only get at restaurants.

She doesn’t even tell him to wait until lunch to eat it.

(He does actually decide to wait the forty-five minutes because she’s always talking about how eating sweets so early in the morning makes him sick, which is actually totally true.)

In all honesty, he has to reign himself in from devouring the entire thing during his break, and so there’s still half of it left by the time Charles, giddy at the sight of cake (but disappointed when Jake tells him that Amy got it from the grocery store), tells him that his partner’s got a couple of kids in the interrogation room that she needs help dealing with. Which surprises him, because she’s never really asked for help with a couple of teenagers before, especially not from him—she claims that he’s a twelve year old in a thirty-something year old body, and he can’t find it in him to argue.

The first thing she asks when he makes his way into the viewing room is: “Why did you bring _that?_ ” _That,_ of course referring to what was left of his dessert, as well as three clean forks.

“You never ask me for help, Ames, so I figured you’d need a different approach. Kids love junk food in the place of regular meals,” he shrugs. She raises an eyebrow, not believing him. “Plus, I wanted to see if I could trick you into eating some and getting a blue mouth. It’d look like you ate a bunch of Smurfs.”

Amy rolls her eyes but smiles a teeny bit, and it’s fond. Instead of responding to that further though, she points her thumb at the glass, directing his attention to the two bodies that sit at the little desk in the interrogation room. “Annabeth Chase and Perseus Jackson, both early twenties, both have records, but haven’t actually done time.”

“ _Perseus?”_ Jake can barely keep himself from laughing. “What kind of name is that?”

 “It’s a classic! Perseus was a Greek hero, son of Zeus I think, and he cut off Medusa’s head.”

“Poor kid,” he says, shaking his head, then focuses on the two detainees: a blonde girl and a dark-haired guy, both with deeply tanned skin not particularly common among white New Yorkers, and they’re talking in low voices, seemingly undisturbed by their current predicament.

They don’t look like hardened criminals, especially not ones who would burn down a bed and breakfast run by the sweetest old lady in all of Brooklyn, but they still make him uneasy. “Boyle said they’re in for arson?”

Amy nods, then proceeds to launch into an explanation of how she found the two half a block away from the initial fire, both with backpacks full of empty lighter fluid bottles, and the girl with blowtorch in hand.  “That coupled with the fact that Jackson started a fire at one of his high schools means that this case is pretty open shut, but I still need to question them to get a few details straight and figured it wouldn’t hurt to have you take a crack at it first before I separate them. They’re pretty evasive.”

“And so you need _meee_ ,” Jake lets the last syllable drag, just to annoy her. But at her crossed arms and mock irritation, he chuckles and places a comforting hand on her shoulder before heading into to the interrogation room, cake in tow.

The two stop talking the moment the door swings open.

The girl, with her rigid posture and scarily blank face, reminds him of some weird cross between his girlfriend and Rosa; the guy— _Perseus_ —on the other hand, well, his face lights up and his gaze hones in on the dessert in Jake’s hands, which makes the detective grin. He greets them, asks if they’d like a slice and half-expects Perseus to jump at the proffered dessert, but at the hand Annabeth rests on his forearm, his entire demeanor transforms and he becomes just as unexpressive as her.

“Why are we being interrogated together?” She asks when Jake sits down across from them. “It’s not standard procedure.”

“You’ve never been to this precinct before, so how would you know?” He decides that the best course of action for these two is to play into whatever game they start.

It works, because the girl raises her eyebrows. “Precincts 8-4, 5-6, 7-7, 9-5 and 9-2 all of the same operating method for interrogation: after the initial arrest, separate the perpetrators if they come together, drill them for information, and then employ the Prisoner’s Dilemma if you don’t get the evidence you want.” She purses her lips, leans back in her metal chair. “Why should we think you’d be any different without there being a significant reason? The other detective seemed perfectly competent to question us, especially since she claimed to find incriminating evidence, yet she sent you in here, with cake.”

“Oh, Santiago? She’s just terrible with interrogation. Our worst detective, by far,” Jake lies smoothly, because if he’s going to be honest, Amy is probably better than him most days.

The guy with the tragically horrible name just glares at him while his literal partner in crime responds in a rather bored tone, “Obviously you don’t believe that. Your nostrils flared slightly, so it’s likely your tell, particularly because you’re doing it right now as well. ” She taps her chin, considering. “And your shoulders just barely squared then, so if I’m going to guess, you feel protective over her. You’re in love with her, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. And now it’s incredibly awkward because she’s standing right behind the two-way glass over there.”

“You’re wrong on that last bit,” Jake says almost automatically. Really, he’s pretty impressed with her analytical skills, and would be irritated if she wasn’t a criminal. “I’m _super_ in love with her, and I _will_ admit it.”

Annabeth drums her fingers on the table, clearly done with the conversation.

“Well, who wants to go back to the holding cell first?”

Perseus’ back straightened suddenly, life flooding to his features. “Can I take the cake?”

“ _No!”_

 

 

They end up interrogating Perseus initially, who groans and complains when Amy calls him by his first name—he claims that it’s totally lame and that he goes by Percy (Jake makes a mental note to obnoxiously call him Perseus for the rest of the day)—but other than that, he’s silent, even as Amy drills him ( _title of her sex-tape,_ Jake can’t help but think).

Amy tries to tempt him with the chance that his friend would turn on him, but that doesn’t work, and when she ultimately becomes frustrated with it all, she even throws in a slice of cake in an attempt to get him to talk. For a minute, it looks like he’s about to give in, like he’s considering it, but then he just shrugs and says he’s not hungry.

And thus, the rest of the squad starts rotating in: Terry, regaling him of stories about his children (to which the boy looks almost amused); Charles, telling him an exhaustive list of foreign foods and how, exactly, to prepare them; and just as Jake’s coming out from trying to annoy the guy to death, Rosa’s entering the viewing room, her arms folded across her chest, sullen as always. Amy must have gone to get the girl.

“Why do we even need these jerks to talk,” she asks gruffly.

Jake shrugs. “Amy said something about needing a motive, or something to tie them to the scene of the crime. We might have the evidence, but we don’t have any sort of ‘why.’”

Rosa nods in understanding. “Yeah, I’m supposed to see if I can get anything out of the girl, Chase. Santiago said she was more talkative.” It’s then that Amy brings the girl in, and Rosa’s eyebrows rise higher than he’s ever seen them. Like, they’re halfway up her forehead. He almost wants to mention it, but then she moves towards the door, then she’s inside the little gray room, telling the other detective that she’ll take it from here.

“Detective Diaz,” Chase says fondly.

Rosa plops down across from her, and Jake can’t see her face, but he’s sure that it’s terrifying. “Hayley Adams. How’s the cat?”

_What?_

“Where it belongs, I guess,” is all the girl has to offer.

Double _what?_

Amy sidles up next to him after that, seemingly as thoroughly confused as he is over the exchange, since now they’re just glaring at each other. Well, again, Jake can’t see Rosa’s expression, but it’s definitely menacing, even if the girl isn’t backing down.

And they stay like that, for almost a full hour before Rosa pushes away from the table and stands up, stalking out of the interrogation room, presumably towards Hitchcock and Scully so she can break something. Amy sighs, and goes in to replace her.

“Listen, detective, can we hurry this up? Percy and I have plans to meet his mom for dinner tonight.” That’s the first time Annabeth has sounded like an actual human. It scares him a little.

Amy doesn’t miss a beat. “Unfortunately, Miss Chase, we won’t be able to let you go until you give us a full confession.”

“On second thought, his mom will understand.”

 

 

Somehow, even though they have ample evidence and motive derived from the pair’s past with arson, the case is thrown out. He doesn’t think that Amy would really be all that mad, except for the fact that “a clerical error” was the reason they didn’t get convicted.

“There was no mistake _anywhere_ in my report, or in the persecution’s paperwork. I know, because I proofread it myself!” Her head’s in his lap as the third _Die Hard_ movie plays in the background—he was hoping they’d get to watch it after no _Die Hard_ for the past few weeks—but she’s so animated it’s honestly pretty hard to pay attention to the film.

Jake pats her forehead sympathetically. “I know there wasn’t, babe. Of course there couldn’t be a mistake.”

He thinks that she’s taking it a little too personally, but as he finds out in the next few months, she has a reason to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Each time it happens, she’s never brought in alone.

The second time, a beat cop brings her and a small Latino boy into the precinct, the boy chattering away at Rosa, who looks like she wants to kill him. Amy isn’t entirely sure what they’re in for, but _her_ history coupled with _his_ singed, slightly smoking hair implies another arson case. They both get off on a technicality involving mishandling of key evidence.

The third time, it’s Boyle who finds her with a boy with dark skin and a mop of curly hair; apparently they were found at the scene of a homicide ten hours after estimated-death, trespassing in a restricted area of a nature preserve. Somehow, before they’re questioned, Chase convinces one of the civilian administrators to open to holding cell so she can braid her hair, and the pair is gone before Amy can even get to the precinct to help Boyle interrogate (because Boyle is terrible at interrogation).

The fourth time, it’s Jake and Amy investigating the third in a series of relatively small jewelry heists around the city, and the moment she sees Chase hurriedly turning the corner with a large, bulging backpack (filled to the brim with actual jewels, which is weird) perched upon her shoulders, she’s running. She and Jake catch up to their collar, and along with a short girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, the blonde ends up in the backseat of his car.

“You’ve got a pretty varied list of crimes, Chase,” Amy comments, if a little bit triumphantly, as they turn onto Park.

“Arson, stealing a cat, trespassing, arson again, jewelry thief, probably murder. What, did you google: ‘Top Ten Crimes to Commit Before Twenty-five?’” Jake chirps from next to her

Chase sounds bored when she replies. “Why does this car smell like cheese?”

 

 

When they get back to the precinct, five minutes into interrogation, the Vulture sweeps in with Major Crimes and steals the case. The younger girl—Hazel, as she learns—asks of what level of a dick Pembroke is, and when she gets her answer, Chase smiles and tells her to give him the backpack in person.

(Amy decidedly does not do this, because that’s tampering with evidence, but she wonders what happens because Major Crimes ends up blowing the case and Chase and her accomplice are free, yet again.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I know Peralta and Diaz are innocent.”

To be honest, Amy’s a little taken aback by the sudden comment, and she finds that the corners of her lips fall into a deep grimace, her eyebrows furrowed. “That doesn’t pertain to the case.”

“Of course it does. Your large friend behind the glass there picked me and my boyfriend up because we were seen in that lieutenant’s old drug den,” the blonde says casually, her attention primarily focused on the end of her hair, where she’s picking at what seems to be a dead end. Normally, that’s a sure sign of anxiety in a guilty party, but Amy doesn’t know if she could ever picture the girl in front of her _nervous._ At her silence, she continues on. “Hawkins is a bitch—we ran into her a few times before, probably a month or two prior to _your_ boyfriend getting sent to jail.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Amy tries not to relay her fears through her features, but Chase would probably make a pretty good detective if she would just stop getting arrested; she smiles easily, brow cocked.

“Because she’s too good to get caught,” Chase replies, her words heavy and true. “But your friends are too good to be in jail.” Of course, Amy agrees with her, but when hesitantly asked why she believes so whole-heartedly in their innocence, she just shrugs. “Instinct, I guess. Peralta was raised by a single mother, got nearly kicked out of school multiple times, barely passed his classes yet is one of the smartest people you know, has a lot of debt—uncharacteristic of bank robbers—and wants to make the world a better, safer place.” At her bemused expression, she laughs. “I do my research just like you guys. Your boyfriend is too much like Percy to actually do something like this, and while Diaz could probably do it, she would’ve been out of the country before the cops got to that bank. They don’t deserve to be in that jail cell, and I can help you get them out.”

Amy does not want to trust her.

She really, _really_ , doesn’t.

Not only has this girl and her boyfriend slipped out of their grasp too many times to count (four), but Chase seems eager to manipulate her and she’s succeeding so far. Although she hasn’t gotten around to interviewing Jackson yet, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to, now that she’s got the image of Jake—who’s so good, so innocent, so attached to her heart—associated with him.

And then something’s vibrating against her leg, and she doesn’t even need to check her phone to know that it’s Terry, harping at her to come back into the viewing room because she’s falling right into the girl’s trap.

 Chase grins as the sergeant stands. “Say ‘hello’ to Jeffords for me!”

“She’s crazy, sir.” That’s the first thing that comes out of her mouth the moment she steps into the tiny, thick-walled room, and the first thing that comes out of _his_ mouth is: “Don’t call me sir, Santiago.”

It’s a nasty habit she got herself into, since they now technically have the same level of authority. “Sorry, I just don’t think she’s a trustworthy source—”

“Finish interrogating her,” Terry sighs. It isn’t a command, not really; he can’t pull rank on her like before. “She could have information that’d help with the appeal.”

“And she could just be running circles around us!”

Amy yells that last bit, and after, she notices their perp wave at her sweetly through the thick glass. Breathing deeply, because _shit,_ the last few months have gotten to her, and she’s about to apologize again when he places a soft hand, comforting, on her shoulder. “I can talk to her if you want.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head sullenly. “I have a feeling she’ll only speak to me today.”

The truth is, Amy doesn’t know if she’d be able to handle watching Chase play her old friend like a fiddle, doesn’t know if she’d be able to deal with her going on and on about Jake again while being helpless to stop her.

“Let me know when you want to get the other one in there.”

After taking a few slow breaths to lower her heart rate in an attempt to mask her unease, she’s back in the interrogation room, sitting across the table from a deadpan blonde, in an uncomfortable metal chair that’s cold. She folds her hands on top of the steel, and sets her lips in a firm line. “You have one minute. Talk.”

“Listen, I kind of understand. Percy’s been my best friend for a decade now, and he was kidnapped for nearly eight months, but I never gave up hope that we’d find him, and neither should you.” For once, the girl seems so earnest that Amy almost wants to believe her. But she keeps the likelihood of this all being another tactic to keep out of jail in the back of her mind, and motions for the detainee to carry on. “My friend is one of the best lawyers in Boston—”

“I’m not looking for legal help, Chase.”

“I know that you don’t trust me, or anyone who’s not on your squad, especially after that witness backstabbed you.” At the older woman’s look of surprise, Chase just nods. “We’ve had enough run-ins with her to know how she operates. You can gather all the evidence you want, but you won’t get anywhere without an airtight case, which _my girl_ can provide for you.”

Amy takes a moment to consider this. “Why _should_ I believe you?”

At this, Chase smiles—a wide-toothed grin that makes her skin crawl.

“Why do you think Percy and I have never done time?”

                                                                                        

 

Amy ends up calling the number that Chase scrawls onto a piece of paper, reaches a woman who sounds too young to be a licensed lawyer. But she takes a chance, since their last lawyer just got an all-expenses-paid trip to the Caribbean islands—no doubt funded by one dirty cop—and it’s a hard two months, filled to the brim with painstaking amounts of paperwork and agonizingly long stakeouts, among other things, but the moment she’s in the court-chambers again, and she sees a tired Jake and Rosa sitting next to a beautiful woman whose voice could probably convince a blind man to see and a deaf man to hear, she allows herself to think that maybe, _just maybe,_ Chase was telling the truth.

And after, after the three days of appeals, after three days of her heart plummeting into her chest because she _can’t hope, she just can’t,_ the foreman—a woman dressed  in a floral skirt and pinstriped top—announces the not-guilty verdict, she thinks she’s stopped breathing.

And then she’s overwhelmed with joy, because _it’s over,_ and she’s taking Jake’s face in her hands for the first time in two hundred and thirty-four days, and she just wants to sob. But when they break apart, when she finally gets to hug Rosa again, and the entire squad is around her, her eye catches something, no, _someone_ —someone with a huge mop of blonde curls—slipping out the door, and she almost runs after her, almost arrests her for _something,_ anything.

She thinks that it makes sense, why Chase and Jackson get away with everything, because the proof is right in front of her, right in her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most fun i've had writing a fic in my life tbh. 
> 
> if it doesn't make sense: percy was using the invisibility hat during the Cat Epidemic, because the cat was actually a monster, go figure. annabeth is a staunchly no-demigod-left-behind if she can help it, and your girl can totally help it. 
> 
> fun fact: this fic was inspired by the "blue cake - your favorite" line from the karen peralta episode. that's the entire reason i wrote this was-supposed-to-be-under-1k drabble and how it turned into a 5k mess.
> 
> also: i'm totally writing a follow-up fic for this. spoiler alert: annabeth crashes a wedding.


End file.
